Letters from Home
by x-posed-again
Summary: What's the harm in a simple letter from home? [MFxOW]


Oliver Wood made his way up the icy steps of the owlery. It was a cool and windy November day and the crisp air stung at his cheeks and lungs. A strong breeze circled around the top of the tower and Oliver had to fight against it just to breath. His climb was beginning to feel more like a battle with nature than simply walking up stairs. Once inside away from the elements he leaned against the cold stone wall fighting to regain his breath. Oliver slowly kicked the snow off the bottom of his shoes causing a loud ringing to echo off the walls.

"Trying to announce your presence Wood?"

Oliver looked around for a moment until he found a figure standing by an open window. The man's back was turned, but Oliver thought whoever it was must be a fool for standing by the window when it was this cold out.

"S-sorry," Oliver chocked out, his teeth chattering from the cold. "Didn't know anyone else was up here."

The figured backed away from the window and stepped out of the shadows being cast on his face. Before Oliver knew it he was standing face to face with the last person he ever wanted to be stuck somewhere alone with… Marcus Flint. Fully knowing Flint would try and provoke a fight out of him Oliver immediately went on the defensive.

"Look Flint, I just want to send this letter to my parents and then I will be out of here," Oliver tried to emphasize what he said next "think you can act like a decent HUMAN BEING until I'm gone?"

Next thing Oliver knew a hand reached out and had him by the back of his robes. Oliver was sent flying to the other side of the owlery and cringed as the brick wall scraped down his back. He barley had time to register what had just happened before Flint's body was pressed up against his and a hand was being held against his neck.

"What did you just say to me WOOD?!"

Oliver's hands pried at the one Flint was using to restrain him. It was soon apparent that the struggle was futile as he fought and clawed at the older boy.

"I just… didn't know…. that Trolls… got mail," Oliver managed to chock out as he struggled for more air.

Flint leaned in so close that his nose almost touched Oliver's. "Don't fucking judge me." And with that Oliver was thrown back on the floor. He coughed and gasped for air as Marcus walked over him and back to the open window.

Oliver laid on the floor, wind knocked out of him. "…what the fuck Flint?" Was all he could manage between gasps for air. Oliver crawled over to the wall and leaned on it for support.

Marcus walked over to where Oliver sat. Flint just stared at him for a while before cocking his head to the side and studying Oliver further. Oliver had seen that look in the other boy's eyes before and it normally ended with Oliver flat on his back and Marcus standing over him laughing.

"Have you gone metal Flint?"

Oliver would not be pushed around… not today. He was cold, probably bleeding and his patience was wearing thin.

Marcus looked around the owlery as he spoke. "Just trying to figure out what could be so damn important that you had to trudge all the way up here in the cold just to send a letter to dear 'ol mum and dad about."

At that statement Oliver pushed himself up off of the ground and wiped the dirt from his lips with the back of his hand. A bright red streak of blood stained his skin along with the dirt. Oliver kept his head tilted down as his eyes looked up a Flint. Maybe he was trying to defend himself for the oncoming punch he was sure he was about to receive or maybe he was trying to look more tuff than he actually was, either way he knew the outcome would probably end poorly for him.

"Maybe you had to cry to mommy about quidditch practice eh Wood?" Flint laughed a little as he spoke; only serving to further agitate the Gryffindor Keeper. It was then that Oliver noticed the crumpled piece of parchment that Flint held in his hand. Oliver thought about making a grab for it, but knew better.

"What do you care what I write home about," Oliver leaned against the wall as he spoke, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. He knew this was his chance. He might not be able to beat Marcus with fights and fists, but he knew he could beat him with words and wit. "Jealous I have parents that care about me?"

Oliver saw Flint clench his fists.

"Oh, did I hit a sour note Flint?" Oliver took a steep closer to the other boy. "Didn't your mum and dad love you enough when you were a kid?"

"Shut it Wood."

"Captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, why is it they never come to any of your games again?"

"If you don't shut your mouth then I will shut it for you."

Oliver could feel his words getting under Marcus' skin and a small part of him felt a swell of pride, the kind he got when he won at quidditch or stopped Flint from scoring a goal. He could win this fight, he had to win.

"I bet they are so proud to have the oldest student at Hogwa-"

Flint's fist made contact with Oliver's eye before the sentence was even finished. Something inside Oliver snapped and he ran head first at Flint, grabbing him around the waist and knocking him down. He was straddling the other boy punching at Flint's side with one hand while trying to choke him with the other. Oliver was a man on a mission. His eyes glassed over and he swung his fist violently at Marcus' face. He knew if he made contact, if he left a mark at all that Flint would never charm it off. He would let it mark his face and by doing so would somehow be saying that even if Oliver won the fight that Marcus was still winning the war, but Oliver didn't care. All he wanted was to scar the face of the other boy. Marcus finally used size to his advantage, knocking Oliver off of him. Oliver rolled and stumble away before he could be swung at, after all he wanted to leave the bruises, not sport them himself.

Marcus wiped the blood away from his bottom lip before walking over to Oliver. He brought his hand up to look at the crumpled piece of paper he held in it and then looked over to Oliver again. Oliver was expecting something more physical and brutal then what he got. "My parents sent this to me today…" there was a long pause before Marcus spoke again. "You think you are better than me and you don't even know me… if that's what it takes to make you feel better about yourself then here… judge away." Marcus dropped the note at Oliver's feet and walked away.

Oliver stared at the letter for a moment before picking it up. He didn't understand the situation at all. This was a battle, an ongoing conflict that would never be resolved and here Flint was… walking away. Oliver took the crumbled ball and smoothed it out on the stone floor, carefully reading over the ornate handwriting that Oliver concluded must have been from Flint's mother. When he was finished he looked at Marcus and then back at the piece of paper.

"I…I don't understand," Oliver had a look of confusion on his face. "All it says is happy birthday."

"Ya." Marcus scuffed his feet against the floor as he spoke, never making eye contact with the other boy.

"So… they sent you a birthday card… I don't-"

Marcus interjected "My birthday was two months ago."

And suddenly Oliver understood. He had won, he had beaten Marcus in a game he didn't even know he was playing. Oliver had marked him, torn him apart piece by piece and left a warpath across Flint as he did so. He had left a mark that Marcus couldn't charm off… one that no mediwitch could heal and even though he would keep that bruise Oliver somehow knew that keeping this one would not mean that Marcus had won.


End file.
